After a week…
Neris was seated in the carriage beside Adrian. They had set off early in the morning—the distance from Bern to Carlton was estimated at six hours.
More than a simple journey, it stretched like a silent test of patience.
Duke Arthur, Duchess Lyzaria, and Helen had returned to Eton. She alone remained here, in a seat she couldn't tell whether it was a refuge or a burden.
The road ahead extended like a straight line brushing the horizon. The sky was a blend of blue and gray, threaded with shy streaks of sunlight, as though hesitant to fully appear.
Adrian sat in the back seat, silent. His eyes moved between the road reflected in the glass before him and fleeting glances at Neris, without showing any obvious interest. His silence was not emptiness—it was a measured presence, as if he chose what not to say more carefully than what he allowed himself to speak.
As for her, she tried to occupy herself with the view ahead. The air inside the carriage felt stifling—not because of the lack of air, but because of her sharp awareness of his presence beside her. She cast quick sidelong glances, finding him seated in effortless confidence, perfectly calm.
In contrast, she felt unsettled. She maintained a stiff posture that strained her back muscles, yet she didn't dare move much—as if any small change might draw an attention she didn't know how to handle.
Edwin, seated beside the driver, raised his voice slightly, speaking about the latest developments in business, about the family's affairs, and about the new city they were headed to. Adrian listened, responding only when necessary, his answers brief, outlining directions without elaboration.
His silence itself was a declaration of dominance; every movement was deliberate, every glance carried more weight than a long speech ever could.
Neris noticed his calm—felt it more than she saw it. Yet it was a sensation she couldn't quite grasp. She turned her attention back outside, catching details through the glass: the faces of passersby, sunlight reflecting off the road, the wind moving through the trees. She lifted her hand and touched the strands of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. These small details formed a private inner world, giving her a temporary sense of balance.
But that balance was fragile.
Inside her, another awareness moved more quietly still. Remaining close to Adrian was not mere coincidence, nor simply a circumstance imposed upon her. It was a temporary shield. Her presence beside him, in the eyes of everyone, placed her beyond the reach of intrusive questions—and beyond the mounting pressure of a marriage she did not want.
Hayden—that name she tried to push from her thoughts—loomed like a heavy shadow. The madness hidden behind his polite smile, the sharpness in his eyes when he believed he had the right to draw close.
Here, beside Adrian, she was protected. From the matter of that marriage, at least for a time, until she could find a suitable solution. That was why she hadn't strongly opposed the Duke's wish for her to remain in Dysshard.
She had even found in it a way out—by Adrian's side.
Not because he had promised her anything, nor because he had shown interest, but because his name alone created distance. And she needed that distance now.
Only temporarily, she told herself. Until something changes… something that will allow me to escape completely, Neris.
After roughly three hours, the carriage stopped at a small roadside rest, near a café. The driver and Edwin stepped out to open the door for Adrian and Neris. Sunlight shattered against the glass, painting the pavement in warm hues.
Neris stepped down with measured movements, while Adrian moved ahead a few steps in quiet composure. Edwin hurried to lead the way, and Neris followed behind. At the café entrance, Adrian extended his hand, allowing her to pass first.
Every movement of his seemed carefully calculated—no excess, no haste—yet he left an undeniable impression in the air around him.
They sat at a table slightly removed from the crowd. Neris tried to appear occupied, turning the coffee cup between her hands, breathing in its aroma. Yet her eyes found their way to him despite herself.
He wasn't looking at her directly. Still, every time she moved, his gaze passed lightly over her features. He noted the details with precision: the way she drank her coffee, the light reflecting in her eyes, the strands of hair slipping free from her shoulder. Everything was recorded within his silence—a silence that pressed without being seen, controlled without commanding, and left her more deeply unsettled.
She finally broke it.
"Will this journey take much longer?"
"We've covered half the distance."
She nodded silently and continued sipping her coffee under the weight of his calm gaze. He watched her with unhurried authority.
She felt warmth creep into her cheeks and tried to hide it. She placed her hand around the cup like a small barrier to shield herself behind. The scents around her were vivid: fresh coffee, the faint fragrance of flowers from a nearby table. She absorbed everything—yet felt time slow around their table, as though Adrian's quiet pulled the world into a silence of his own.
It reminded her of her father's desk. The same stillness that used to unsettle her, make her afraid to breathe too loudly. Here, it was the same feeling—but layered differently: less harsh, more enigmatic.
She pretended to focus on the café around them.
Adrian sat with one leg crossed over the other, papers in his hands that he had taken from Edwin. He worked just as he did in the carriage—paused, but never idle. A man occupied even in moments of rest.
Despite the visible fatigue, he remained relaxed and self-assured, as if the entire café belonged to him.
When they finished their coffee, he looked at her and asked,
"Do you need anything else?"
She shook her head silently.
He stood first, steady, leaving her space to rise more slowly. Before returning to the carriage, he cast one last look at her and waited until Edwin opened the door for her, then turned to take his seat on the opposite side.
The carriage moved again. A dense green forest stretched ahead, sunlight playing between the leaves, air slipping faintly through the windows—before they entered a more barren road.
Adrian remained silent, setting the papers aside and leaning more comfortably toward the window, watching the road. His silence felt heavier now, saturated with something unspoken.
After some time, the sea appeared beside them.
It was a silent announcement of Carlton's nearness—a border city overlooking the ocean. Its sandy lands did not allow for widespread agriculture, and its distance from the capital, along with the difficulty of fishing, had driven many away. And yet, it retained breathtaking views—raw, unpolished, unapologetic in their beauty.
The moment Neris saw the ocean—which, unfortunately, was on Adrian's side of the carriage—she leaned instinctively, unable to hide her awe.
It was the first time in her life she had seen the sea.
Its vastness unsettled her… and soothed her at the same time.
Adrian noticed her reaction. The instant he turned toward her, she shrank back into her seat.
He said calmly,
"It seems this is the young lady's first time seeing the sea."
"Ah… yes. That's right."
He leaned back slightly, giving her more room to see, and said quietly, his eyes closing with fatigue:
"The new palace overlooks the shore."
In that moment, Neris realized the journey was not yet over—and that this closeness, with all its silence and gravity, might be the beginning of a temporary protection…
and the beginning of a test far longer than she had expected.